


acting with consequences

by WistfulScribbles



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Actor AU, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/M, pretzelweek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-26 11:34:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9894791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WistfulScribbles/pseuds/WistfulScribbles
Summary: Emma and Killian work together as actors in a troupe. Emma doesn’t trust him though - he’s new, and he won’t say why he left his last troupe. With August’s new play, not only does Emma have to act civil around Killian - she has to play madly in love with him. Of course. Written for seastarved's pretzelweek, day 3: co-workers in the enchanted forest.





	

Emma found August outside his tent. He was airing his bed roll out on a short line spanning from his tent to David and Snow’s. Emma thought briefly of her own bed roll. That could wait until later though. She had more pressing matters to attend to, like questioning August about her character and this new play he had written. He had better have a good answer.

“Is the maid seriously just a naive girl who makes no choices ever and is only there to fall blindly in love with the prince?” Emma held up the script that August had written. She had been going through it all day. When he handed it to her that morning, saying she would play a maid with a great destiny, Emma had been thrilled. Now disappointment coursed through her. “I can handle it when characters aren’t outspoken or decisive, but really, August? This is kinda misogynistic.”

“What, because she’s not headstrong and stubborn like your usual characters?” August challenged, defending his work. “The best characters are flawed, Emma. Nina’s flaw is her blindness when it comes to love. It’s a flaw most people have - it will resonate with the audience. You can’t choose who you fall in love with - and the handsome prince is easy to fall for.”

“I’m not judging her for loving anyone. Or well, maybe I am. I’m judging her for having _no other role_ than loving this ‘handsome prince’. Who’s betrothed to her princess,” Emma added sourly. “Who’s gonna play him anyway?” Princes were usually right up David’s alley. But this prince didn’t suit David’s charm, Emma thought.

“Why, me of course.”

Emma turned around to see none other than _him_ smirking at her. Killian ‘everybody-loves-me’ Jones. _Of course._

“You as a prince? I didn’t know you could play a gentleman.”

“I’m always a gentleman, love.”

Yeah right. In the month Killian had worked in their troupe, not once had Emma thought to describe him as a _gentleman_.

“I thought you preferred the more roguish characters.”

“Ah, but even actors must broaden their horizons, mustn’t they?” Was he mocking her for complaining about the maid’s character?

“Even willing to give up your black leather, are you?”

“I’m positive I’ll look just as devilishly handsome in shining white armour, worry not, love.”

Emma scoffed. “I won’t. But it’ll be great to finally see if you can button up your shirt.”

“Paid a lot of attention to my chest, have you?” Killian raised an eyebrow; giving her that leering look he seemed so fond of giving her.

Emma was about to say something she’d probably regret, like ‘not as much as you pay to mine’, but August interrupted. Probably for the best, though Emma still scowled.

“As amusing as your flirting is, I’ve got other things to do. You might want to tone down the heat for the play though - we might be performing for royals after all, not just rowdy villagers.”

Emma glared at August. _They weren’t flirting_. He had passed them though, ignoring Emma’s contempt. She was left alone with Killian, silence stretching between them. She looked towards the campfire - supper would be ready soon.

“I guess we’ll see each other for a first run-through tomorrow then.”

“Would you not like to go through it together after supper?” Killian asked. Usually, Emma was eager to get started with practice. Now she wished to put it off for a long as possible.

“I’d rather start memorizing on my own first.” Not that she had many lines to memorize. But Emma could complain about characters being too flat or unnecessarily flawed; she refused to complain about too few lines.

“Then I shall look forward to tomorrow, love. I do hope your anticipation won’t keep you up all night.” There it was again. That usual, smug jab.

“Yeah, you wish.”

Emma brushed past Killian, off to the other corner of the camp. She followed the sounds of shooting arrows until she found Snow with a raised bow. Snow usually let off some steam with a bit of arrow-shooting before supper. Sometimes Emma liked to join her. Often just to talk, rather than participate.

“So Jones will be playing your unfaithful prince.”

“Yes, David told me.” Snow nocked an arrow but kept the bow down. “I’m excited to see him get a big role - it really lets him know that he’s a part of our family now.”

“Really? He’s only been here a month, I mean, I’d hardly call him _family_.”

Snow shot her arrow, hit bullseye (of course) and turned to Emma with a knowing look.

“You still don’t trust him, do you?”

“Why should we? He never told us what happened in his last troupe and keeps avoiding the question.”

“David talked to him earlier when getting firewood. I think they’ve become good friends,” Snow smiled. “At least David seems willing to say that Killian is a good man. And definitely worthy to be one of us.”

“So he told David about his last troupe?”

“Yes.” Snow nocked another arrow. “But I don’t think it’s my place to retell.”

Why did that annoy her so much? That Jones had told David about his past but wouldn’t open up to the rest of them. Apparently Snow knew. Emma frowned and tried to let go of her irritation.

“So what do you really think of the play?“ Emma changed the topic. “An unfaithful prince, cheating on his betrothed princess by sneaking around with her maid? Isn’t that a bit too risky to show if _actual_ royals might see it?”

“I’ve heard Princess Abigail is pretty fond of scandalous drama. And after all, the ending makes up for it, doesn’t it?”

“The ending sucks.”

There it was again, that knowing look. The kind Emma imagined a mother would give her daughter. Not that Emma knew much about mothers.

“You sure seem to hate this play. You’re sure there’s nothing else eating at you? Nervous to work with Killian for the first time?”

“No.” Emma refused to talk about Killian any more. “It’s just a terrible play. I’m disappointed in August to be honest.”

“Maybe you need to look at it differently. If you really believe it’s terrible, it will be terrible.”

“I know.” Snow was always all about staying positive about every script. And most things in general. “But come on, you can’t deny the story really isn’t that good.”

“It has its flaws,” Snow conceded. She shot her arrow. Another bullseye. “But don’t be too obvious about it around August - a man’s ego is easily bruised, and a sulky writer is certainly worse company than a proud one.”

Emma wasn’t so sure.

* * *

 

After supper, everyone had their own business to return to. Some practiced their arts, others joined for a game or a chat. Emma noticed David, Lance, Robin and Killian huddled over a deck of cards, immersed in their game. Mulan went off alone somewhere. Snow too, most likely to practice her lines.

Emma spent the evening alone in her tent, going through the script more than a dozen times. She tried to riddle out why the maid would fall in love with a prince courting the princess she served. And why would she let said prince sweep her off her feet, no word of doubt or regret? Was she really nothing more than a naive little girl, desperate for the love of a handsome royal?

As she did her best not to scoff at the script, Regina practiced her fireballs right outside Emma’s tent. The constant _whoosh_ and blinking light set her teeth on edge. If only she could perform with a display of magic like Regina, instead of this disastrous play.

Emma had always loved acting. She had been elated when the troupe took her in nine years ago when she was seventeen. The troupe had become her family, the travelling caravan and camps her home. But there were moments like these where she wished for a simpler life.

Emma took a deep breath, berating herself. She could do this. No foolish character or dodgy co-actor could bring her down.

* * *

 

Emma couldn’t take much more.

Practicing the scenes with Snow and Killian first had been fun. Seeing Snow go from nice and helpful to a drama-loving, manipulative princess was hilarious. Princess Katherine was a vain character. While the prince - Constantine - courted the princess, Katherine would goad him into noticing the maid, Nina, only to show her superior confidence. “Isn’t she a pretty girl?” “Oh, do talk to her, compliment her dress!” No matter what, the princess was sure the prince would always come back to her. Of course, that wasn’t how the play ended.

Snow had left when Belle was satisfied. They skipped the scene of the ball - choreography could be worked on later. Now Emma practiced alone with Killian in front of Belle. The first tryst between Constantine and Nina. The moment where the prince swayed the maid with his words. And Emma had to stop herself from mocking said words.

The prince talked _a lot_. For five minutes, Emma said near to nothing, only listened to the prince talk as she gazed at him adoringly. What little she did say were words of admiration. Emma couldn’t tell if it was the prince’s character or the way Killian played him, but it was absolutely terrible. How could anyone ever fall in love with such a boring, self-absorbed nob?

“Okay, you can do that again,” Belle spoke after Killian’s last line of the scene. “I’m loving the wide, adoring eyes, Emma, but maybe you two should try leaning closer and closer as you speak - but never close enough to touch. Keep it intimate, but not scandalous.”

Emma held back a sigh. Did she really have to hear him drone though that monologue again and feign interest?

“I’m quite fond of those adoring eyes myself, Swan,” Killian smirked, only loud enough for her to hear.

She glared at him. And then he was in character again, the ‘dashing prince’, so obviously just wanting his ego stroked - and something else too, Emma gathered.

“… there is something so lonesome about being a prince. I feel so detached from my people. Who are they really, what do they dream of, what can I truly give them? You live a life full of hard work - manual labour - and even hands such as yours, fine and nimble will quickly grow rougher than mine ever will. Yet your brow will not wrinkle with worry and thought such as mine. You know your place, but you are still allowed your dreams. Me, I can never spare a moment for dreams, for I must constantly worry for my people, worry for their future and not just my own.”

“You work harder than any others, my prince, with burdens the weight of the world on your shoulders. With all this care you give your people, I promise you, no one would ever doubt you.”

Bile almost rose in Emma’s throat. Her lids were growing heavy. If only she could close them and sleep as Killian - the prince - droned on about how hard his life was. How hard he strived to be a good person. Well, maybe he shouldn’t be sneaking around with his betrothed’s maid if he so wanted to be a good person.

For an hour more, Belle kept them going through the scene again and again, until Emma wanted nothing more than to fling herself off a cliff. The call for supper was a relief. Emma hurried away from the practice tent, out in the open air. Finally, she could let out the sigh she had held in for the past three hours.

 _Two weeks_ , she reminded herself. Just two weeks and the performance would be over. Once they heard the lacking applause from the audience, they would terminate the play. _Just two weeks_. She could make it work. Keep her insults to the minimum so no one accused her of being unprofessional. And outside of practice she could avoid Killian as much as she pleased. She had to work with him, yes, but she could deny living in the same camp as him as much as she wanted.

* * *

 

“Seriously? I’m on meal duty with _Killian_? Don’t I see him enough during the play?”

Ruby’s eyes were full of suspicion. And mirth.

“One might think you don’t like dear Killian - or maybe you like him _too_ much.”

Emma gave her a glare in return. She wouldn’t deign Ruby with an upright denial or a ‘shut up’. That would only spur the wolfish girl on.

“It’s just a lot of working together at one time.”

“It’s only three days of meal duty - and less than two weeks and the play’s done. You got this, girl.”

Emma sighed her agreement. She missed Granny. Ruby’s grandma had always cooked for the troupe, but they hadn’t been able to deny her the chance to settle down and start her own inn. Since then, they had each taken turn with three days of preparing lunch and supper.

She could do this.

Killian happened to be quite adept by the campfire. Emma usually slacked on meal duty. She’d slice some vegetables or stir a broth over the fire, but kept it simple. Killian was prepared to make a festive meal; guttering fish, spit-roasting chicken, mixing delicious soups.

He was quick to notice Emma’s lack of enthusiasm.

“You know, I’ve got it all handled, love. You don’t have to worry about too much, just slice some vegetables; that will be fine.”

Did he think her incompetent? Emma took a deep breath. Then she snatched the next fish and gutted it as quickly as he did (though with less care). She seasoned the food as she thought best. She cooked the fish over the coals, skewing them with a stick and carefully turning them until the meat turned flaky. She did much more than slice a couple of vegetables.

All the while, Killian grinned. Ass. She really had to stop letting him crawl under her skin.

* * *

 

Five days before they left for King Midas’ city, the entire troupe gathered for a single scene. Dull swords clashed and clanged as choreographies for the final battle of the play were developed.

Enemies charged on the princess’ castle during the prince’s stay. This was Killian’s heroic battle as Prince Constantine. His chance to show off and save everyone.

Emma had to admit, he did look rather good, swirling about and knocking down the enemies. His fighting style was more fitting for a pirate than a prince though. She would rebuke him for that later if no one else did.

As everyone practiced their sparring, Emma hid her anger at being ‘trapped’ in a corner, no sword for herself. While everyone battled, the maid fretted in the corner until the prince could save her. _Of course_.

Emma sat on the ground, legs folded in under each other. She leaned her elbow on her knee, resting her head against her hand. Why was she even there? If the maid wasn’t in the battle, why did Emma have to sit there and watch everyone else fight, unable to join in?

It took another hour before everyone agreed they could move on from the choreography. Finally, Emma could play her part. Or rather, have the prince come and rescue her.

Killian stooped down to her level, holding out his hand as the prince.

“Are you well, my love?”

“Yes, I - I think so.” Emma let Killian take her hand and pull her up to his side.

“Wobbly knees, Emma! The prince is meant to carry Nina to the front of the stage,” Belle pointed out. Emma grit her teeth, but let her knees wobble, leaning in towards Killian. Damn, his chest was solid. And warm. _Get a grip, Emma._

“Great - Killian, lift her in your arms - yes that’s wonderful! Emma, curl yourself into his chest, arm around his shoulder,” Belle instructed.

Emma followed suit, hoping her cheeks weren’t as red as they felt. At least Killian didn’t seem too comfortable either. Emma noticed the way he held his breath as she snaked her arm around his shoulder and buried her nose in the crook of his neck. She couldn’t deny her satisfaction at the way he tensed when her breath tickled his skin. It kept her mind off how strong he was, how secure she felt - no, Emma was _not_ secure. She hated every moment of this. She did.

Killian carried Emma to the front of the stage. He gently let her down to her feet, holding her hands in his as they stood in front of each other. The plain care in his eyes unsettled her.

“Emma - your line,” Belle reminded her.

Emma avoided Killian’s gaze before speaking.

“You saved us all! You saved _me_.”

“How could I not?” Killian swallowed, before going down on one knee, keeping her hands in his. “You are my starlight, Nina. My one true love. Will you not do me the honour of becoming my wife - my princess?”

Emma widened her eyes as Nina - and fought to roll them as Emma.

“But the princess Katherine! I - I am just a lowly maid, could you truly wish to marry me?”

“Of course, my love! You are far more than a maid in my eyes. You are the purest light, an angel that has graced my life with your presence.”

Emma stared at Killian, hoping she wasn’t the only one who thought the words were awful. A flash of laughter in Killian’s eyes forced her to ground her teeth to keep from grinning.

“Snow, you can go on now - we’ll take this scene to the end, then rerun it,” Belle said.

Snow hurried onto the scene, starting her line at once.

“She is much more than that, Prince Constantine.”

Both maid and prince whipped their heads around to see the princess. The maid looked as a child caught trying to steal a freshly-baked pie. The prince had the decency to look somewhat ashamed.

“I am sorry, milady, I-”

Princess Katherine held up her hand to silence the maid. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Nina. In fact, it pleases me to see you finally realize your destiny!” A huge smile broke out on Snow’s face, and Emma readied herself for the worst plot twist August had ever written. Really, what had he been drinking when he wrote this? “You are the true crown princess, Nina! We have kept you hidden and secret to protect you, but now our enemies have been defeated, thanks to you, Prince Constantine!”

Killian turned to Emma, wonder anew in his eyes. “Do you not hear, Nina? You are no maid, but the crown princess - our paths have been destined to intertwine. As a humble prince, struck with awe at you beauty and soul, will you not do me the honour of becoming mine, Crown Princess Nina?”

Emma tried to reflect the adoration Killian played so easily. Her hands felt clammy in his. “I will… of course I will!”

With a cringe-worthy squeal of joy, Emma pulled Killian to his feet. They both knew what the script called for now. Prince Constantine was the one to lean in first. So why did Killian hesitate? Did he think she’d bite his head off for playing his role? Emma dreaded the idea of Belle _instructing_ them to kiss. If Killian wasted another second, Emma would do it herself. _It’s just a kiss, no big deal_.

The peck was rather a touching of lips than an actual kiss. No warmth, no desire. The second it took for Killian to react and try to pull her closer - to linger in the moment - Emma was already pulling away. He jerked back as well.

Belle clapped. “Good job, everyone! Let’s go through the scene again though - Emma, Killian, try to linger for a bit more in the end here, okay? Give the audience a chance to react.”

Emma turned her back on Killian and Belle, closing her eyes for a second. Shouldn’t it be time for a break soon?

* * *

 

She had never known whether to love or hate the days of travel. On one hand, they were filled with excitement of the next place, the next performance, the next scenery. But they could also be tedious. Riding in a caravan or on a horse all day, packing everything up only to pack it out again. And after a few days, it would be on to the next venue.

On a day like this, where the sun was low on the horizon, the warmth of summer settling like a blanket around her, Emma loved travelling. On her horse, she could focus on nothing but the path ahead of her. There was no need to talk to anyone at all - especially not _him_. Emma had lost all sense of how to act around Killian. Hiding behind the maid’s character had become a relief. With every practiced kiss between them, things just grew awkward. Every time he provoked banter, Emma was always aware of eyes on them, smiling at their flirting. They were _not_ flirting.

Fortunately, meal duty was long done and over with. Not on cleaning duty either, Emma could simply wash off her own bowl and spoon and walk away from the campfire once supper finished.

It was a three-day-ride to King Midas’ city. Here on the second warm night, Emma found a spot outside the downscaled camp Regina had magicked for the night. She sat in peace, staring at the setting sun with a flask in hand. She had filled it with rum, though no one needed to know that. Technically, she wasn’t allowed to fill her flask with the rum from their one barrel, but she had needed it. A bit of warmth in her belly, a poison to take her mind off the performance in two days. Emma couldn’t believe they were really going through with it. Did no one else see how dumb the plot was? Or were they all just too tired to disagree with August’s writing?

Emma heard footsteps behind her, growing louder each second. At first she thought it was Snow or maybe David, but when she turned her head, the very person who confused her to no end lately was grinning at her.

“Mind if I join you?” Killian pointed at the spot next to her with a flask of his own in hand. A part of her _did_ mind. The other part though, she couldn’t describe it. It _wanted_ him to join her.

Emma shrugged. “Sure.”

Killian sat next to her, not too close, but close enough that she could touch him if she wanted to. Not that she did.

“Care for a bit of rum?”

Emma squinted at his flask.

“Where did you get it from?”

“I might have taken a bit from the troupe’s provisions.” Killian feigned ashamed. Emma saw through it though, that smug bastard.

“You know that’s not allowed, right? It’s only for troupe gatherings.” She was a hypocrite and she knew it. Still, she couldn’t miss the chance to chide him.

“Ah, I know. But we’re two gathered from the troupe now, are we not? If the stolen rum is shared it can’t be too horrendous a crime.”

Emma lifted her flask with a smug grin of her own.

“Afraid I’ve already got my own crime stocked.”

Killian laughed, a deep and warm sound. “I should’ve guessed, Swan.”

They clinked their flasks together and toasted on their ‘stolen’ rum. Emma dreaded that Killian would start talking again, poking and prodding her. She had left the temporary camp alone for some peace and quiet, and she’d be damned if he disturbed that.

Killian stayed silent, staring out at the setting sun. Bewilderment settled in Emma. Why did she find _herself_ wanting to break the silence now? He seemed to be in a companionable mood, she reasoned - less provoking. Maybe she could finally get real answers out of him for once.

“So, do you think people will like the play?” She’d start simple. No need to be obvious in her probing.

“It’s a thrilling and salacious tale - I expect they’ll lap it up like they do every other drama full of intrigue and romance.”

“You really think it’s romantic?”

“I’ve gleaned that you don’t.”

“What, a prince cheating on his betrothed by sneaking around with her maid? No, not exactly romantic if you ask me.”

“Then what does Emma Swan find romantic?”

When had he started probing her instead of the other way around? She decided to answer him after all. “Honesty.”

Something distant appeared in Killian’s eyes as he nodded. “Aye, honesty is a fine thing.”

“So do you honestly think the play is good?”

“Yes.” Too quick. He was obviously lying, and he knew that she knew. That stupid gleam in his eyes.

“Liar.”

“I’m the new lad in the troupe - I can’t be known to dislike your work and have rumours spread that I’m ungrateful and picky.”

“Care about your reputation that much?”

“Sometimes a reputation is all a man has, Swan.” He was joking, at least trying to, but there it was again, that distant look. Like he recognized more truth than he was willing to let on.

Emma had thought she wanted to know what was going on in his head, what secrets he wouldn’t share. But something had shifted inside her. Things were getting too close. She’d rather keep it simple and playful, goading each other and laughing, not any of these brooding talks.

“So you’ve set out to be the always-agreeing guy who doesn’t know how to button up his shirt.” Yes, back to talking about his chest, what a great idea, Emma.

“You certainly have a penchant for noticing my open shirts.”

“What, you come into our troupe with scruffy hair, leather pants and open shirts, but no explanation of why you left your last troupe - that sorta spells trouble.” What was she doing? Why was she steering the conversation back to this?

Emma took a quick swig of rum. If only the poison could make Jones crawl back out from under her skin. On second thought, rum might not be the best idea. A loose tongue around Jones was the last thing she needed. And now she was thinking about tongues and Jones and god-dammit what was wrong with her?

“Think I’m trouble, do you?” The way he ran his tongue over his lower lip, Emma was half-frightened he had read her mind.

“You’re definitely no prince in shining white armour.”

“I’m afraid I’m more like our dear prince than you think.”

 _What?_ Again, Emma sensed that things were getting too close. Too painful. Earlier, when Emma had tried to get Killian talking, he would always deflect her questions. These vague answers, she didn’t know what to do with them.

Killian kept his gaze on the flask in his hands. Emma studied the way his jaw ticked for a moment before he swallowed a mouthful of rum. She had to look away before her thoughts wandered again.

“In my last troupe, well, the reason I left them is frighteningly similar to the prince’s situation.”

“What, you…?” Emma stopped. Why, when she finally stopped wanting to know, did he decide to spill his story? “You know, I don’t need to know. You’re with us now, that’s that.”

But she could see it in the way his jaw clenched; he was determined to tell her. _Why_?

“I thought you didn’t trust me.”

The honesty in his voice rattled Emma.

"Of course I trust you.” Only when she said it did she realize the truth of it.

“So you don’t think I’m trouble anymore?”

 _Maybe a different kind of trouble_. Emma couldn’t say the words though.

“I wouldn’t mind sharing my tale, you know. As much as I relish the allure of secrecy, perhaps honesty _is_ the best course.”

“You’re starting to make me worry you killed a guy or something.” Emma needed the safe ground of joking. Deep down she hoped her words weren’t ironically true.

“Not quite,“ Killian said. "I fell in love with one of the actresses in my troupe. Milah. I thought she was in love with me as well as we shared a brief and blissful time together. Until she told me she had a husband - a son even. Said that we could never truly be together, because she would never leave them. I was blind,” Killian shook his head at himself. “I begged her to stay with me - begged her to leave her family, Swan. When my head finally cleared, I was disgusted with myself; I couldn’t believe what I had become.”

“So you left,” Emma finished for him, trying to wrap her head around his words. She had thought him an arrogant ass, who had probably been kicked out of his former troupe. This she had never imagined.

“Aye.”

“And now you’re playing an unfaithful prince.”

“Life is full of irony, isn’t it? First I get to be a home-wrecking bastard, now I get to play an unfaithful one. My honest opinion of the play, Swan? The prince deserves a right kick to the nuts.”

Emma didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know what to _think_. She hated her own character for being weak and blind. Killian had to play a character he hated because it reminded him of the worst part of himself. That urge to reach over and touch his hand was strong now. She quenched it.

“We can always improvise the ending,” she offered a half-hearted joke. Killian replied with a half-hearted laugh. He held out his flask for another toast which she accepted with an upturned corner of the mouth. Both drank in silence.

“Emma? Killian?” Emma whipped her head around at Snow’s call. “We’ve warmed some cocoa, you guys want some?”

Killian arched a brow at Emma in question.

“I’m always up for cocoa,” she grinned.

When both got up, Emma felt the need to say something, _anything_ , and hoped it wouldn’t come out awkward. No matter what, she’d probably regret it though.

“You _are_ one of us now, Jones. And you can be as disagreeing and picky as you like - it’s sort of what we do.”

She walked away before she saw his reaction. _Yep_ , she already regretted opening her mouth.

* * *

 

Emma hadn’t spoken much to Killian since that evening. Half because they were always busy with each their things, half because Emma _made sure_ to always be busy. Now the play was about to start, and Emma wasn’t sure if she had made the right choice.

“Nervous?” Snow asked.

“Just the usual.”

On the other side of the curtain, the villagers of King Midas’ city had gathered in the town square, eager for some entertainment. As rumours had said, Princess Abigail was even present, a lover of dramas and intrigues. Emma hoped she didn’t mind the kind of drama they had in store. She rather liked having a head.

The talking and bustling of the crowd silenced. For a moment, the butterflies in Emma’s stomach doubled. The muffled silence stretched. Then Regina lifted the curtains with her magic.

Snow sat ready in her chair by the vanity table and Emma stood with a brush behind her. When the curtains lifted, they were Princess Katherine and the maid Nina, talking in the princess’ chambers.

“It’ll be so wonderful; Prince Constantine here for the ball, dazzling lights and music all around. Oh Nina, I can scarcely wait!”

“You will look so beautiful, milady. The prince shall have eyes for none but you.”

“Oh but he will, dear Nina. He will have eyes for every woman in the room - princess, lady, even a maid like you. But in the end he will turn to no one but me.”

And so the play began.

Emma set her thoughts and troubles to the back of her mind. She could let her contempt for the script show during practice, but here, with an audience lapping up every word, she would not disappoint them. She would play her role. This was her work, but it was so much more - acting was one of her greatest joys.

But Emma’s high spirits and determination couldn’t last throughout all the play.

The prince’s and the maid’s first tryst was set in darkness, starlit by Regina. She also created the breeze that twirled Emma’s skirts on the windless, bright summer day.

Alone together on the stage, Killian swept Emma off her feet as prince and maid. But it was too stark a reminder of talking with him during the sunset. His words kept ringing in her head. The self-loathing she had seen in his eyes. Emma fought it and kept gazing at the prince adoringly, no mind to her own feelings. At least the audience seemed to enjoy it. So far.

The scenes passed in a blur. Soon the final battle broke out and Emma, supposedly trapped behind a fallen chandelier, finally snapped. She couldn’t take it anymore. She couldn’t just lie there and wait for the prince to rescue her, and have all sins be forgiven.

No. This story needed a new ending.

One of the ‘enemies’ lay ‘dead’ near Emma, his dull sword just out of her reach. If she crawled though…

Emma did it. She crawled out from her trap, seized the sword and stood with adrenaline pumping through her veins. She ignored the bemused look from the dead enemy.

David, playing one of the enemies, charged at Killian. It was a well-choreographed fight. Emma had to break it though. She leapt in between David and Killian, blocking David’s sword with her own. Through the slits of his helmet, Emma could see David’s confusion. She gave him a small smile, too small for even the first row to notice.

David challenged Emma’s stance.

This would work. They had sparred together countless of times. Even without choreography, they could create an exciting battle.

David tried disturbing her balance, coming at her with rough blows to her sword, then quickly pulling away once she put her weight to it. She was used to that trick though.

Emma used her smaller build to her advantage. She darted around him, jabbing at him when he least expected it. If only she could do one of those talented spins like Killian, but she would rather not attempt it and fail.

“Nina! Nina, my love, what are you doing?”

“What on earth does it look like?” Emma growled at the prince as she clashed her blade against David’s.

“Come, we can watch each other’s backs,” Killian proposed as the prince, grunting as he fought his own foe.

Emma glanced backwards for a moment, still focusing on David. As they sparred, she let David back her up towards Killian.

Each step backwards, she did her best not to lose her footing. Each step backwards, she met David’s sword without fail.

A solid back pressed against her own. Killian. Emma grinned - that had to have looked awesome. Now back to back, they continued to fight each their foe, circling about. Emma didn’t have much time to ponder how well this had worked out without practicing once.

David’s arm was starting to slack. He was giving her the fatal chance. Emma took it. She blocked his final blow and hit him quick and precise, right next to his side facing away from the audience. David fell, ‘dead’ at her feet.

Killian had knocked down his contender as well - Mulan, if Emma had seen correctly in the blur of it all. She was happy not to have fought Mulan herself. That girl had serious skill. Not that David didn’t of course…

Only one remained to fight for each of them. Emma didn’t see who was left for Killian, but she recognized Robin. Perfect. Emma had practiced sparring with him a couple of times too, after he and Snow made her shoot arrows.

They kept it simple. No unpredictable movements, only swords clashing, loud and heavy. Killian and Emma moved as one, stepping forwards and backwards, dodging and attacking in turn. The audience was a blur of wide open mouths and gasps. Even Emma felt enthralled.

Robin wobbled. For a mere second, Emma had her chance. One jab to his backdrop-facing side, and Robin was down.

A few second later, she heard Killian’s foe drop as well.

Emma’s heart raced. She had done it. _She had done it_. Now came the harder part though. Sparring was easy - always an audience-favourite. But the play had to end now, and it was down to her to do it right.

As they had fought in unison, they turned to each other on a shared impulse. The prince stared at Emma with awe - was part of it Killian’s own amazement? Emma played the maid with a strong stance. No more nimble bowing for her.

“Well… I suppose I owe you thanks for the help, prince,” Emma spoke. Killian raised a brow.

“We make quite the team, my love.”

Emma’s grin wasn’t an act. She wondered how much of Killian’s was fake.

“Yeah… well, thanks.”

“You don’t suppose you owe more than a simple word?” Killian curled his fingers by his lip, obviously hinting at a kiss. The play had to end like that, didn’t it? Well, that could actually work out pretty well for Emma. A plan clicked.

“Please. You couldn’t handle it.”

“Maybe you’re the one who couldn’t handle it,” Killian goaded her. Just as she had expected him to. She looked at him for a moment, wondering if he had guessed her plan. He seemed quite intent on that kiss.

Emma dropped her sword and grabbed the lapels of Killian’s coat in one swift motion. She pulled his lips to hers. No more awkward pecking, no faked lingering. They sought each other’s mouth with earnest hunger, breathing each other’s air. For a moment, Emma forgot everything about her plan, about her character, about the thousands of eyes watching them. Well, they were certainly getting their salacious wants fulfilled.

Emma pulled away, her hand still at the nape of his neck, the other grabbing his shoulder. His were tangled in her hair and wrapped around her waist. Had she even heard the clang when he dropped his sword?

They lingered, their lips mere inches apart.

When Killian spoke, he sounded more wrecked that Emma could have hoped for. “That was -”

“Your worst mistake.”

Emma smirked as she stepped back, sweeping her eyes over Killian. He was absolutely dumbstruck - no acting could bring him to that look. Emma surged with pride.

In one swift motion, she grabbed the sword that she had dropped, pointing it at Killian’s throat. His wrecked look turned to one of confusion. Emma’s grin widened, her teeth showing.

“I am no mere maid, Prince Constantine,” she spat his name. “I serve and guard the princess with my life. My duties lie with her, and her alone - and she would never marry such unfaithful scum like you. Did you think yourself clever? Courting Katherine in the daylight whilst whispering in my ear under the stars?” Emma scoffed, shaking her head with a superior calm. “This kingdom is done with you, prince. As am I. May you have a _pleasant_ journey home.”

Emma spun around, turning her back on him. With her head held high, she left the stage. She didn’t see the hint of a grin on Killian’s face, threatening to break through as the curtains closed.

It hadn’t been a kick to the nuts, but close enough.

Regina was ready to wring Emma’s neck once the curtains had closed. How dared she change the play all on her own? Did she think she was superior, good enough to act on every whim with no thought to consequence? Imagine how slandered their troupe would be now!

But none failed to hear the audience cheer louder than ever before. Emma kept her stance.

* * *

 

Plenty of rum was shared that evening. Emma only sipped at her mug though. The troupe applauded her rash decision, celebrated the success their performance had had. Even August agreed that Emma had made the right choice (Regina as well). She wasn’t used to all the congratulating though. Being in the middle of it all like that. In honesty, she was exhausted. When she finally saw her chance, she fled to the quiet of her tent.

Her bed roll lay ready to welcome her. Emma sat there for a moment, giving the heat in her cheeks a chance to fade. Everything she had done during the performance seemed a total blur now. Had she really kissed the living daylights out of Killian like that? And changed the entire play?

She shook her head at herself with a laugh.

“Swan?”

Emma’s head spun towards the opening of her tent. It was closed, but unfastened. With a simple ‘yeah?’ she invited Killian to open the flap and peak in. His grin was apparent at once.

“That was bloody brilliant.”

The heat she had tried to cool down in her cheeks returned anew. She tried to tone down her smile.

“Not too much?”

“Exactly what the bastard prince deserved,” Killian said, a laugh rumbling through his throat. “And, I hope, what I deserved?” Once again, Killian brought his fingers to his lip, raising a flirting brow. “You don’t suppose that was something more than my worst mistake? Perhaps something to be tried again?”

Emma couldn’t keep her smile from him. They _did_ make a good team. They worked well together. Perhaps they should test if they worked as well in her bed roll too.

“Why don’t you come on in, Jones?”

**Author's Note:**

> this was kinda inspired by my own experience with having to act in love with a character I really, really hate. staring adoringly at someone for five minutes as they drone on about their 'hard, hard life' is indeed difficult. (probably not if they're Killian Jones, but alas, I'm not that fortunate)
> 
> Thanks for reading! :))


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